Sometimes, I Wonder
by JustAnotherWonder
Summary: Pepper had long since accepted Natasha's personality. It was what made Natasha, Natasha. Pepper thought she had also long since accepted Natasha's job. Being held captive by Natasha's newest target leaves Pepper open to witness The Black Widow in action. Maybe Pepper thought wrong. slightly AU, told in drabbles
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Sometimes, I Wonder

**Pairing**: ?

**Summary**: Pepper had long since accepted Natasha's personality. It was what made Natasha, Natasha. Pepper thought she had also long since accepted Natasha's job. Being held captive by Natasha's newest target leaves Pepper open to witness The Black Widow in action. Maybe Pepper thought wrong.

**Warnings:** Sort of graphic depictions of violence, deals with ptsd, mentions of attempted rape (nothing happens/happened).

**Disclaimer**: Do not. Own.

**A/N: **This is post-avengers, follows the movies kind of, not really. You could read this, and not be spoiled too badly to the events of most recent movies. Now, everything this story has about ptsd is stuff I've learned out of interest from books, and wiki. I wanted to attempt a story with the subject, and still manage to keep the character in character. If anything isn't right, please feel free to correct and criticize. I also don't have a beta, so beware of ill-timed misspells. Also, POV will frequently switch between 1st, 2nd, and 3rd person. The majority of the story is 2ndPOV, so just fyi.

Thanks for reading~

* * *

1.

It only takes a second.

The click of the hammer, rearing back, releasing the bullet from it's frame. The kidnapper doesn't even have time to scream. The bullet peirces through and through, ripping skin, and slicing bone. It's more graphic then a late night HBO movie, the ones Pepper usually gets roped into watching, but that goes without saying. Pepper is lucky she's still seated, after the bullet finishes going through the man, it comes right out the other end, whizzing by just over head. Bringing flesh and blood sprinkling with it.

Trickles of warm red rush down her cheek, splatter in clumps on her stained favorite beige skirt, drip on her previously pure white blouse. It's only lukewarm, but it feels scalding hot, burning the areas it touches. Her lips flail, opening and closing in soundless gasps. She has never witnessed something like this in her entire life. The only time she's seen a dead body before close up, was at a funeral, during her childhood. Now here she is, witnessing... _this._

The body collapses in a seizure fit, he foams from the mouth, and Pepper can remember the feel of those exact lips threatening the dip of her collar. His hands grasp at air, and Pepper can feel the ghosts of fingers running over her thigh. His eyes flicker and roll, and Pepper can remember the burn of them on her skin.

Despite his attempt at more then just her body, Pepper doesn't feel quite so thankful, seeing him twitch and wither on the floor, slowly losing the fight of life. Despite the last few days, she doesn't feel relieved or grateful. She's stuck in a limbo, feeling nothing, and feeling everything.

Natasha's gaze right now is cold and calculating, she crosses over the room in four quick strides, heels barely clacking, barely missing the body on the floor. She leans down, quickly grasps Pepper's chin with icy fingers, and yanks her head this way and that. Pepper wants to thank her, thank her for coming in at the nick of time, for seeming so concerned. The pit of her stomach is churning with this weird, tight feeling, rather then warm with relief.

She still feels terrified, helpless, scared, but she can't explain to herself why.

Rather then words of thanks, the only thing Pepper can stand to murmur is, "I—the body..."

Natasha casts a look over her shoulder, it's enough, her expression is enough. Her expression screams that the man deserved it, she wished she could've done more, that look alone is _enough. _Pepper wants to tell her that. Pepper wants to go home. She can't. Natasha doesn't refrain from answering, "Twenty minutes, give or take."

Pepper's breath comes in short bursts, her eyes stuck to the immobile figure on the ground. The feeling of Natasha's fingertips on her face, spreading the blood, the thoughts from earlier, she just feels so sick, "N-"

Natasha briskly side steps the mess, the majority of it is clear liquid, stomach fluid. Pepper was barely fed while strapped to the chair, there was nothing in her body to give. Spluttering, and coughing it up, if possible, Pepper just shook more. Natasha slinks back, lithe legs blending with the shadows, she cuts the ropes with a tiny army knife.

Pepper's reduced to gasping heavily, her hands shake as she touches the rope cuts and burns on her wrists. Little reminders of the past week. She can feel Natasha's eyes on her, cold, burning, detached from the situation, and all she wants to do is crawl into a bed, and detach herself. Why does it feel like she's getting worse, rather then better?

She places a hand to her lips, regrets it immediately when she tastes salt and metal, "I—I want..."

"Iron Man is on his way."

Pepper stays silent. She hadn't wanted Tony. She wanted to be alone.

Maybe Natasha knew that though.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Sometimes, I Wonder

**Pairing**: ?

**Summary**: Pepper had long since accepted Natasha's personality. It was what made Natasha, Natasha. Pepper thought she had also long since accepted Natasha's job. Being held captive by Natasha's newest target leaves Pepper open to witness The Black Widow in action. Maybe Pepper thought wrong.

**Warnings:** Sort of graphic depictions of violence, deals with ptsd, mentions of attempted rape (nothing happens/happened).

**Disclaimer**: Do not. Own.

* * *

2.

A week passes since your kidnapping, he had you for 4 days, 5 nights. You're thinner than before and you're thankful he didn't try anything until the last moment, mere minutes before Natasha could save you. S_ave. _Being a term used loosely. You've been held captive before, it was why you have such a strict work out regimen now. You've been kidnapped, threatened, everything. You just don't understand, you've _never _felt so _helpless_ before.

You can't forget it, the thoughts don't leave, the fear of what could have happened had he decided to try something earlier. Flashes of dark eyes, cold hands against your thighs pester your thoughts, your dreams. The thought of him being dead doesn't bring relief, no, you don't know _what _it's brought. The shakes, the nausea, the disability to preform your every day duties.

You're acting like Tony just after he came back.

You try to cover the bruises, the one against your temple with cover up, the ones against your thighs with longer skirts, the bite marks on your neck with turtle necks. You try to cover it so you don't have to see it, so others can't remember to speak about it. So you don't have to think about it so much. Despite it all, whenever you pass by Natasha, she seems to see through it all. Her eyes gluing to the spots you try desperately to hide.

_Why, _you want to yell at her, _why won't you stop staring at me?_

Rather then comfort you, it makes your anxiety act up, seizing your breath, squeezing your chest. With her eyes on you all you can think of are cold, endlessly emeralds piercing you. You think of a dark basement, her hiding in the showers, taking out her gun, and then blood. What had once been nice, having Natasha's eyes on you, now makes your stomach lurch and churn violently.

"Are you okay?" Natasha asks, despite not being an expressive person you can see it in her eyes. She's honestly concerned once the doors shut and you're standing in the elevator. Her hand is tiny, so much smaller then you remember it being when she had checked you for injuries. Once it touches your elbow, in a distant, friendly gesture, all you can feel is ice.

You skittishly take in her red tank top, grey sweats and haphazard bun, and just see the red. The red in her hair, the red on the shirt, the red on the floor, your beige skirt. You know you're overreacting, you know you need to get over it. You don't understand over what though. You tighten your grip on your business papers, and turn your head to face the door. You can't find the strength to turn away, or move. Why do you feel so scared?

"I'm fine." Your voice trembles, cracking somewhat, Natasha's hand falls away.

"I'm fine."


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: Sometimes, I Wonder

**Summary**: Pepper had long since accepted Natasha's personality. It was what made Natasha, Natasha. Pepper thought she had also long since accepted Natasha's job. Being held captive by Natasha's newest target leaves Pepper open to witness The Black Widow in action. Maybe Pepper thought wrong.

**Warnings:** Sort of graphic depictions of violence, deals with ptsd, mentions of attempted rape (nothing happens/happened).

**Disclaimer**:

**A/N:** I don't know what I'm doing with this. 6 of you are waiting for something epic apparently, so just some forewarning.

* * *

You jolt awake, blood rushing by your ears, the ghost of the taste of metal on the tip of your tongue, feeling clammy and sweaty. It's the most unpleasant awakening you've had, the sharp tremor seemed to start at your heart and burst through the rest of your body, all the way to the sizzling tips of your fingers. You push yourself up and your stomach coils, your throat tightens and you're gagging on air.

You thread your fingers through your damp, knotted hair and press your free hand to your lips. You can feel a migraine brewing in the back of your head, tears threatening against the backs of your eyelids. You can't even remember the dream that caused you this distress. You know what it lead too, you know why you have it, but you can't even clearly remember it, and it just makes you sick that you're still so bothered by it all.

When your door swings open with a loud clatter, you curse, jumping up impossibly high, your breath coming out in short gasps. You feel like you're going to just _cry_.

"Pepper! What the _hell_?"

Your mouth opens and closes soundlessly, you barely manage to put a taper on your emotions, "Tony, what, what the hell are you doing?" You can't help but sound incredulous, observing Tony standing in the door way in half of his Iron Man suit, eyes wide and bloodshot.

"What am _I_ doing?"He sounds astounded, rushing towards you with humming, pent up energy that makes you feel on edge and uncomfortable, "Pepper you were screaming! I get up to take a piss half awake and I hear you and I just, Pepper I didn't know what was going on."

He looks so small, and scared and frightened. You want to comfort him, pull him close and tell him it was just a horrible nightmare. You wish someone would do that for you. You wish it was the case. But it's not just a nightmare, its a reality that has to keep playing itself over and over again. You've been doing this for weeks now, ruining his sleep. You even broke your own rule, never share a bed with Tony. Especially not like this, never like this. But you felt yourself needing comfort, needing someone near you, close enough to reach out too if you needed it. You shouldn't have put him in this situation.

"I... It was just, look, Tony, I'm fine, I just-"

Tony holds up his hand, and even though you know realistically you're acting ridiculous, you can't help but freeze somewhat, thinking of red, and the heavy smell of metal and gunpowder. Its just Tony, you tell yourself, but you think of Natasha, and the bile in your stomach rises.

"Nightmares, again. I know. Well, I don't, but I know what it's like." Tony rushes out, dropping the Iron Man armor as he makes his way back to the bed. He crawls up, and you can't help but smile almost fondly, the dream almost a memory now, your heart slowly beginning to settle. "I'm worried."

You bite your lip as you rest your back against the headboard. Tony stops, gently dropping his head into your lap, your fingers immediately go to brush through his hair. It's a calming gesture for the both of you. You don't know what to tell him to make him feel better, you can't even seem to get yourself to feel better. "I know."

"Maybe you should," He stops speaking, and it's worrying because Tony never thinks before he speaks. Your fingers still just as you manage to get your breathing together, "Maybe you should, I don't know, talk to a psych."

"A professional?" A bitter chuckle escapes your lips, you're tired, and just so finished with this entire situation. "I seem to recall having to fight you tooth and nail just to talk to Bruce about _your_ problems, since you wouldn't talk to _me_."

He flinches, and you know it's because you couldn't keep the bite out of your voice. You hadn't meant to do that, that wasn't what you wanted to say, but nights upon nights of restless sleep are starting to take it's toll on you. You're breaking your own rules left and right. "Yes, I know that, but, well, you should-"

You're just so _tired._

"Tony, I don't _want_ to. I don't want to talk to someone about the boring days I spent strapped to a chair, being spoon fed baby food, and how I was almost raped. I don't want to talk about it, because I don't care. I'm moving on Tony. I'm fine."

The migraine that had been brewing slowly is at full force, pounding unforgivably, pulsing. You let out a tiny, low groan. Your fingertips, rather then gently sliding through soft locks, tug and pull, eliciting a tiny grunt. You want Tony on his side of the bed, you want Tony out of your problems, and you really just want to sleep.

"Natasha." He blurts, sitting up so fast _your_ head spins, "You were screaming about Natasha. I don't know. I heard it last time, but I didn't want to say anything. I wasn't sure. I'm sure now."

The name sends you spiraling down, deep, into some unknown place in your mind. You can't remember your dream, but you feel sick. Before you can tell Tony to drop the subject, you look at him, and you just really _see _him. You can see so much, and you're just so frustrated. So many emotions on his face. For everything, anything else he could be such a good actor. But it's you he's talking about, and you he's worried about. It's too much. He looks angry, and afraid, and a number of other things that are just so painfully _Tony_, you can't even begin to decipher them. You don't want too, you tried enough. You press your fingers to your temple, trying to suppress the need to just get up and walk out of the room, suppress the need to run and hide..

His hand is suddenly on your shoulder, gently turning you back towards him, "She did something, didn't she?"

"No!" You shout, so loud, and quick to deny it that Tony looks genuinely taken back, pulling his hand back as if it burned. You shake your head, just so _ frustrated _, "She didn't do _anything _Tony. She was the one who... "

"Who?" He prompts, softly, and it just hurts. A little.

You can't get the words to form. What did she do? She_ saved _you, she did. She honestly did. But. You can't. If you're so fine, why can't you _just say it out loud_? She _saved _you.

"I'll make an appointment."


	4. Chapter 4

**Title**: Sometimes, I Wonder

**Pairing**: ?

**Summary**: Pepper had long since accepted Natasha's personality. It was what made Natasha, Natasha. Pepper thought she had also long since accepted Natasha's job. Being held captive by Natasha's newest target leaves Pepper open to witness The Black Widow in action. Maybe Pepper thought wrong.

**Warnings:** Sort of graphic depictions of violence, deals with ptsd, mentions of attempted rape (nothing happens/happened).

**Disclaimer**: Do not. Own.

**A/N: **And now _10 _of you are waiting. wow. no pressure or anything. LOL

**To Imogene**: There is so much I could say to you, it'd mostly be me freaking out over how perfect Natasha is, and how right you are about stories dealing with Natasha/her job are amazing. I guess I'll skip that part and continue on to say this chapter kind of touches on how they knew each other. It doesn't go into detail, or show how close they got, or really explain much of anything. But! It should give you a better grasp of the situation. I kind of felt this chapter was all over the place, but it was fun to write so meh. Hopefully I can cover that more in the future. lol

About the POV switch, I had figured saying 'written in drabbles' in the description kind of made the entire story free game. As far as chapter length/POV/story progression. I was gonna warn about how things will change randomly in chapter 1 buuut then I figured no one would notice/care. I was wrong, m'bad. lol;

* * *

You _forgave_ Natasha for everything she had done to you.

You forgave her for '_Natalie_', for keeping Tony's death from you, for sneaking in and wedging herself into your life so easily. You forgave her for trying to seduce and take Tony from you, you forgave her for cutting your heart strings with a jagged box cutter.

When asked why, by even Tony, who _still_ felt some disposition around Natasha, your answer was always the same.

Natasha had been doing her _job_. It wasn't something personal, she wasn't trying to rip you and Tony apart for her personal enjoyment. Natasha didn't get _off_ on harming innocent people. It also helped that you always likened Natasha's job to your own. You didn't like trampling on other businesses, you didn't like cutting ties with certain companies, thus rendering hundreds unemployed. _You_ were just doing your job. Why would you hold a grudge against someone else for doing _theirs_?

You just couldn't find it in yourself, no matter how hard you tried, to keep onto that aggravation and betrayal you had initially felt. It just kept _slipping_ through your fingers. You would lay in bed, thinking about it, you would see Tony and remember it, but it just wasn't a _big deal_. There were _bigger_ things to get riled up about. Maybe someone else would have been angrier longer, but it seemed like such a _waste_ of a potential _something._

When Natasha, along with the Demi-God and archer, had shown up three months later at your door step, you had been expecting anything other then an apology. You were going to greet her, show her around, and mention how you personally helped Tony with room designs. She wouldn't even cross the threshold of the tower without apologizing.

_"I don't get it," You had said, genuinely flabbergasted. You couldn't even try to mask it. "Why are you apologizing to _me_? You were just doing your job, it's not like you're indebted to us now or something."_

_"I don't owe you a debt," Natasha had agreed, "I didn't even want to stay here, I don't want to make you and Stark uncomfortable. He's insisting, but he's still not over what happened. You must not be either."_

_"You were just doing your job." You repeated, and Natasha had smiled bitterly._

_"Just because it's my job, doesn't mean I'm comfortable with it, myself. This isn't the worst I've done, but that doesn't make it any better."_

It was that, that _disposition_ Natasha had given, that made you really _realize_ there were worse things Natasha Romanov had done. You had already known due to Tony hacking into SHIELDs intelligence system, had already done the research and reading about all the people who you would be 'roommates' with. But just the way she _said_ it, made it so much more _real_.

Natasha was a liar, a thief, a killer, she was, and is _still_ these things. More then half the things on her file, were things that were too gruesome for you to even stomach. The kills, the hits, targets. All the death, and blood, and _red_ just _gushing_ from her ledger. There was so much, so many, such a bountiful amount of things for her to shoulder.

At a glance, it was hard to look at Natasha, in her yoga pants, and tank tops, and imagine a killer. It was hard to look at her, and just think '_how many_?'. How many lives had she ended, how many bullets fired, how many families ripped apart? It was hard, but it was the truth. You didn't doubt it. It was in her eyes, in her disposition. There was _always_ something about the small PA Natalie Rushman, and Natasha was it.

You gave Natasha _pardon_, for everything she had done, and everything she will do.

Natasha didn't talk about it, didn't make mention of it, or hint at it. She didn't make a show of strength, or brag about her past, and her accomplishments. Not the bad, nor the good. Things you've seen some of the other Avengers (nix Bruce) do all too often. You gathered that Natasha wasn't proud of herself. Maybe could _never_ take any pride in any job well done, after the life she had led. No matter how many tens of _hundreds_ she saved, it could, would never erase the hundreds, of _thousands_ of innocents and otherwise that were gone because of her.

It's her job though. It wasn't like she went out and did it for fun. You kept that train of thought, and it just never bothered you. You didn't mind sharing a living space with her, you didn't mind the late nights when you couldn't sleep and she'd be there making tea. You felt okay around Natasha, you even felt kind of _safe_.

On those nights where it would be just you two, quietly sipping at drinks, willing your insomnia to go away. You'd catch her profile, and the melancholic look on her face, and you would just ask yourself _why_. She put herself in that situation, she wanted to do those things, at least as far as the information SHIELD had to offer went. _Why_.

She's an enigma, a puzzle, and you weren't ashamed to admit you wanted to solve it.

You became friends. Or something vaguely close to it. Spending your insomniac nights in the kitchen, drinking tea silently, was a thing you usually did alone. It was due to overworking yourself, being a workaholic, stress. After Natasha moved in though, you often found yourself beaten to the punch. Hot water already brewing, your spot on the kitchen counter already taken.

Really, your friendship was bound to happen, whether you were interested or not.

Natasha never spoke of what kept her up, or why some nights she couldn't sleep. No matter how much you felt the need to know, no matter how badly you felt the need to solve the enigma known as Natasha, you never pushed. You never asked. You weren't like Tony, you didn't just take what you wanted, you didn't just demand it. You wanted Natasha to give it. You wanted her to talk about it herself, without you asking. You were sure it was obvious to someone of Natasha's caliber anyways, how curious you were. It didn't seem to bother Natasha, not badly anyways. If anything, you always got the feeling she was curious as to why _you_ were curious.

Sometimes, she would appear at your office with lunch. In memory of the old days, while calling you 'Miss Potts', with a smirk that hinted to things that you still didn't understand. Sometimes, you would hassle Phil until he told you what kind of food she preferred. Sometimes, you would wonder what is was about yourself, that Natasha found so tolerable. Why she didn't hate that you didn't seem to mind the things that others would. You had expected something like that from her.

_"You're a civilian, that isn't an outsider."_

_You had let your head roll over your shoulders, to glance at the other end of the couch where Natasha was curled up, her fingers, small, curled around a glass of wine. "Hm?"_

_Natasha had sighed, taking another sip of her drink, "Civilians are just victims, or causalities, outsiders. You can't know a civilian, they don't have the clearance."_

_"So you talk to me, because I have the clearance for it." You had been teasing, joking around, but when you looked at her, waiting for snort or something like it. Natasha had merely looked back._

_"You don't ask about the things you need the clearance for."_

Sometimes, you just wonder.

When you think about the days, and nights spent with that crazed lunatic, all you can really think about was the stories he'd told you. How many of his comrades he'd watched die, bloody, gory deaths. How uncaring, and brusque Natasha had been. No matter how much he told you, or how he painted Natasha out to be it didn't bother you.

_It's her job, he's a crazed killer, his 'friends' deserve it._

No matter what was said about Natasha, what you read, it just never bothered you. No matter what you were told, or how badly Natasha seemed to feel it never got to you.

It never got to you, until it did.

You were on your way home, to the tower, when a car sped by. You heard it in the distance, and it's true what they say about having a feeling when something bad is about to happen. You sped up your walking, trying to make your way to the door, without alerting them that you knew. Really you just needed to get close enough to yell. One scream and you'd have a small army at your beck and call.

Then the chlorophyll hit you.

You had woken up strapped to a chair. He didn't give you a name, but he sounded Russian. When he spoke of the wrongs Natasha did against him, he made it sound like it happened so many years ago, but you doubted Natasha had been old enough to cause any damage that long ago. At times, you do admit, you almost felt bad for him.

And then he started becoming comfortable. He didn't care what happened to you, and he stopped giving you food. You had to practically fight for the right to be able to use the bathroom, and even that had to be done with him standing right there. Really, you hadn't been worried about things other then your safety, until the final day of your containment. Before anything could really happen a bullet went through his head.

That's where things get fuzzy.

It's weird, how much you can know about something, how much you can accept something, and then when it _finally happens _it's just not what you expect. No matter how much you tried to sit there and justify it all, it just didn't add up. You'd seen people die before, you've seen people hurt, and killed. No amount of anything had really prepared you for what you saw. It's weird, how you felt more... _betrayed_ then you had when she had actually betrayed you.

It hasn't been that long since the incident, yet you found yourself steering clear of the places that Natasha would go too. It wasn't because of Natasha, you would tell yourself. You didn't go to the kitchen when you couldn't sleep, you slept in Tony's arms. You didn't allow your PA to let anyone into your office anymore. You didn't really talk to Agent Barton, on the ground Natasha was usually near by. You didn't sit in the living room, or wonder around the tower, or really do anything that had even a chance you would run into Natasha.

No matter where you didn't go, or who you didn't talk too, you couldn't control your dreams. The horrible dreams, that most of the time left you unable to sleep the rest of the night.

You didn't want to talk to her, you couldn't look at her, you weren't prepared to see her. You gave yourself excuses, you were aware. You aren't an idiot. You know. But at the same time you don't.

* * *

"Post traumatic stress disorder."

You're sitting in SHIELDs headquarters, in a tiny room that's decorated in reds and browns, with a woman maybe in her late thirties. She has on a navy blue skirt, and a white button up, accompanied with the traditional doctor's coat. She's SHIELDs therapist. She's one of the best, recruited by the best.

Just because she's the best, doesn't mean she's right however.

You try not to deny it, you try really hard. You know the first step to anything is denial, but the words escape your lips anyways, you're blubbering, "I've had PTSD before, I know what it is, this can't be PTSD."

"Oh, yes that's right. The Tony Stark incident," She says, watching you carefully, as if trying to rile you up. You're long over it though, so you merely nod, almost with too much excitement, "You've experienced the symptoms before, so you know what this is."

"I can't... this can't,"

You try to remember what it was like after the events of last year. Staying up late, waking up early, trying to push through and hope, beyond all hope that Tony was okay. You lost sleep, and had nightmares, sometimes it felt like there was a crushing weight on your chest. You'd hope that he wasn't dead in a ditch somewhere, or being tortured. When he turned up, you were better, but then his near death experience, and Iron Man, and then 'sleeping peacefully' got caught somewhere in limbo.

After you seemed to finally overcome it, Tony slipped into it. And while it pained you to say it, helping Tony through the worst helped you keep your mind off it yourself. With Tony seemingly fine, you felt isolated, and by yourself dealing with nightmares, and waking up in a cold sweat by yourself. It was part of the reason you'd crawl into Tony's bed some nights.

"You've been triggered by seeing someone you trust brutally kill someone else in front of you. Hell, you barely talked about the actual event itself. You mostly talked about the someone you _trust_."

Your mouth slips shut, lips pursing. You try not to tremble in your seat, but flashes of red, and the feeling of your skin burning causes you too. Talking about it, or mentioning it bothers you. But that's normal. You were kidnapped, you can get over it. You keep your head raised up, you won't be beaten down. You've gotten over this before, you can do it again. With or without help.

Her eyes seem to soften, "You're not afraid of what happened, not the kidnapping, not even the attempted raped. When you mentioned that part, it didn't even seem to phase you. You know what it is, if you don't want it t-"

"No." Your voice is so stern, it surprises yourself, "She _saved_ me." Somehow you're dragging Natasha into it, you think of what happened just a few days ago and feel a harsh pang to your chest.

The SHIELD agent leans forward, gently placing her blank notebook down. She takes off her glasses, and regards you with a very personal look, "Ms Potts, would it bother you if I asked you a question?" She sees your hesitance, raises you one, "If you can't answer it, feel free to leave."

A part of you wants to believe she's being nice, but you aren't stupid. She knows you like to feel in control of situations, even when you aren't. You know she's baiting you, but what else can you do? "Alright, I guess I can agree to those terms."

You wait about a beat, feeling anxious and nervous. Wondering what she could possibly ask that she felt warranted that warning. She replaces her glasses, lets out a sigh, and fixes her clipboard.

She almost doesn't even acknowledge you. "I know this may be hard, but have you thanked her for saving your life yet?"

And you just sit there, because what can you say? You want to sit there and deny it all, insist you're thankful, insist that you did thank her. You want to go back and highlight how you're actually kind of like friends, and how indebted you feel to her. But as you try to think about what happened, and as you think of Natasha's face, you find that you just _can't_. You can't.

You stand up stiffly, pull your bag back onto your shoulder, and take a deep breath.

"I'll see you next week."

* * *

**A/N:** /whispers this chapter hurt me more then it hurt you


	5. Chapter 5

**Title**: Sometimes, I Wonder

**Pairing**: ?

**Summary**: Pepper had long since accepted Natasha's personality. It was what made Natasha, Natasha. Pepper thought she had also long since accepted Natasha's job. Being held captive by Natasha's newest target leaves Pepper open to witness The Black Widow in action. Maybe Pepper thought wrong.

**Warnings:** Sort of graphic depictions of violence, deals with ptsd, mentions of attempted rape (nothing happens/happened).

**Disclaimer**: Do not. Own.

**A/N: **/whispers omg you guys stop following this story I'm beginning to panic.

p.s 3rd POV

* * *

Pepper doesn't sleep.

When she _does, _she has nightmares, a continuous loop of the days she was captured, all the way up to Natasha putting a bullet in the mans head. By now, Pepper feels like she should be over it. It's Natasha job to kill, she had saved her, doing her job. Pepper feels ridiculous, but she can't just flip it off. There isn't just a switch in her head she can turn on and off as she wants.

She feels like she is heading in the right direction at least. She isn't as skittish, she actually went into the kitchen to get a drink the previous night and Natasha hadn't been there. She is heading in the _right _direction. As she leans over to get a look at Tony's sleeping face, Pepper sighs, feeling the slightest bit better.

Pepper knows you don't just _get over _problems like this, but maybe if she tries to ignore it hard enough, and push through it, she can deal with it. Maybe if she just compartmentalizes a little bit more then she won't have to think about it. Maybe if she just stops feeling, it will go away.

She kicks the blankets off, and easily slides herself out of bed. She feels tired, and oddly out of sync with herself as she pads her way towards the door, needing a drink to hopefully help lull her to sleep. When she reaches the bedroom door, she hesitates, her chest pounding lowly, she almost feels kind of numb. Numb is decidedly better then scared though, she pushes herself, grabbing and turning the door knob.

Tony's floor is actually one floor beneath the same floor as the kitchen, the big hallway outside of Tony's room is one way, one side having the door to the elevator, Pepper peeks her head out and checks both ways before deciding it's okay to act. She pads softly down the hall, bare feet making tiny sounds that echo off the walls. It's a lot more eerie then she'd prefer, but she really just wants her drink.

The elevator ride is silent, what with JARVIS being in a sort of sleep mode, as per usual between the hours of 2:30 and 4:00. It gives him a chance to preform system checks, and a bunch of other things that Tony explained, and Pepper didn't exactly care to hear.

When the elevator stops, she's met with yet another dark, empty hallway, illuminated by the bulletproof glass windows, with a slight yawn, she makes her way, and finally gets to the kitchen. When steps into the kitchen, past the threshold leading from the hallway she feels kind of ... off. Barely, slightly.

The kitchen is huge, probably bigger then it needs to be, all soft shades of beige, and black granite counter tops. It connects to a larger dining room, with a bar at the end. Tony did a good job with the floor plans, it just kind of bothered Pepper how much open space was around her. She checks around the corners, and around the island located in the middle of the kitchen, and she finds nothing.

Feeling decidedly more safe, but still the prickle of doubt buzzes lowly beneath the top, Pepper scurries to the back of the kitchen, where a coffee machine, and a few other miscellaneous electric house hold appliances are. She fishes a kettle out, and fills it with water, her movement careful, and meticulous. Setting it on the stove, she glides towards the cabinets, and fishes out some decaffeinated red zinger tea with a little hum. The longer she takes, the calmer she feels, and it's been so long since she's been in the kitchen by herself.

It's frustrating that for the first time in a while, she gets to do something she misses, and she can't enjoy it to the fullest, due to this stupid PTSD. She often feels nervous or on edge without reason. She just wishes it would go away, but that's sadly not how it works. With a sigh, she sets the stove to high.

She hops onto the counter, and waits for the whistle to blow. Her fingers rake through her hair as she practices some breathing exercises, trying to get the low hum of feeling threatened out of her system. The water is ready in little more then ten minutes, she hops off the counter, finds her favorite mug and puts a little creamer in the bottom of her cup.

She turns around with her mug in hand, keen on making her way back to Tony's floor, quickly so she won't have to run into anyone and see any looks of pity. She takes a sip of her drink, it's soothing, and when she looks up, she comes face to face with red, and bright green. "We should talk."

The sudden shout of surprise that bubbles up, rattles Pepper all the way to her heart. She jumps up, shaking the mug clean out of her hands. Natasha reaches for it, but when Pepper shouts a second time, this one sharper then the last, she flinches back. The mug crashes to the ground , spraying hot liquid, and glass everywhere. Red pools at Pepper's feet, and her mind flashes back in time. Pepper looks from the puddle of red, her breath coming out in short, untrained gasps, up to Natasha who seems, for the first time since Pepper's met her, unsure of what to do. She looks almost lost. This cold, numb feeling starts at Pepper's chest, and seems to slowly spread through her body, Pepper just wishes she stayed in bed.

Pepper _knows _she's not dying, but it feels like the air can't make it in fast enough. "Virginia, you need to calm down." A part of Pepper wants to scream that she _knows _that. Natasha does not _need_ to try to help. It's now when Pepper feels like she can't hold herself up anymore, she reaches for the island, and starts to slide herself down. When Natasha reaches an arm out to possibly help, Pepper can't help the sudden need to throw her arms up.

Pepper knows, she _knows _Natasha would never hurt her. But she can't stop that tiny inkling of fear, that '_but maybe_' she feels in the back of her mind. She can't help but look at Natasha, hand outstretched, and think of blood, and screaming, and just _twenty minutes. _It's a snap neck response. Pepper just wants to crawl into a hole and die.

Swallowing thickly, when Pepper looks up into Natasha's eyes from behind her arms, she freezes. Pepper's aware the fear written on her face is just so _real _and it's just so painful, it probably speaks volumes to Natasha. Pepper knows, logically, she shouldn't be afraid. Logically, Natasha _saved _her, and should have earned her respect but-

Natasha is Natasha, this enigma, beautiful and capturing, this unknown, not easily understood being. Natasha is sharp, and unpredictable, and strong, and so resilient. No matter how much Pepper tries to understand, it's like trying to finish a one thousand piece puzzle, with only fifty pieces. Pepper doesn't even know what the finished picture looks like, and right now that _terrifies _her.

There is literally just some part of Pepper, in her mind, _terrified_ of the things she knows nothing about. Afraid of the things she once wanted to learn about. The curiosity that used to burn so hard, dwindled down to a tiny flame. At first, she understood, but now, she really doesn't, and the disability scares her. Pepper sees red and can only think _'how many?', _she can only see what's in front of herself, the small woman with fiery red curls and bright emerald green eyes, and think of the blood, and detached, calculating gaze.

It's then, when that thought passes through her mind, that Natasha backs away. Natasha's hand falls, the previously somewhat helpful gesture gone. Pepper actually managed to catch her off guard, the moment of stunned silence seems to pass. Her expression though, that's what really gets Pepper. Pepper's breath ceases in her chest, painfully, quickly, for just a moment. Her arms drop to her sides immediately, Pepper's never felt more _ashamed. _Sure, she's feels terrified, and yes, she's panicking, but, she feels so _badly_ about it. Like it's just all her fault. Maybe it is.

Pepper can feel Natasha's gaze, she watches her back away into the shadows, and when she judges Natasha's face expression she just seems so... _disappointed._

And it hurts.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title**: Sometimes, I Wonder

**Pairing**: ?

**Summary**: Pepper had long since accepted Natasha's personality. It was what made Natasha, Natasha. Pepper thought she had also long since accepted Natasha's job. Being held captive by Natasha's newest target leaves Pepper open to witness The Black Widow in action. Maybe Pepper thought wrong.

**Warnings:** Sort of graphic depictions of violence, deals with ptsd, mentions of attempted rape (nothing happens/happened).

**Disclaimer**: Do not. Own.

* * *

Sometimes, Clint acts as Natasha's voice of reason.

Generally, Natasha didn't have a voice of reason, she would not ponder on the right and wrong, she did not stop to question actions. If instinct told her to do something, Natasha would do it. If it was her mission to do something, Natasha did it. If she was provoked, Natasha would finish it. Natasha acted on logic, and insight, she didn't need a conscious, or to be sub-aware of things that did not pertain to the current situation at hand.

That does not mean Natasha is obtuse. She's smart, crafty, cunning. She was crafted, created, to be this way. Ruthless, and precise. She's there, so that _she _doesn't have to be. She's a face to be put on, a tool to be used so no one has to get their hands dirty. That is how it is, that is just how Natasha feels, that is how others treat her.

Sometimes, it takes Clint to remind Natasha that sometimes, _Natasha _is not needed. Sometimes, it is the person _inside_.

Natasha didn't like to admit it, she likes Clint despite his flaws, and humanizing moves. She likes that Clint has a soft side, she likes that Clint cares about the things she doesn't. It makes Clint _human._ She doesn't love the man, no, her attachment to Clint is deeper then love, her connection with him is stronger then that of soul mates. She's bounded to him closer then any word could possibly describe.

The word that Natasha feels can describe it perfectly, is she feels like she permanently owes him a debt.

A debt in Natasha line of work, a debt to someone of Natasha's caliber is a big thing. You aren't just owed a _debt _by someone who has killed several hundreds of people. A person like Natasha does not willingly owe another a debt. If you can't cover yourself, then you're as good as dead in Natasha's (previous) line of work. It's your life, that you have in your own hands. When someone actually saves it, spares it, you owe them.

You can't gloss over it with petty words, you don't just save them back. It's never enough. Natasha has murdered, and killed so _many people_. The blood and lives of others rest on her hands, carved into her heart. Natasha is not just living as herself, she knows this, she is continuing on, with the souls of thousands on her shoulders. It's a heavy, price to pay. A weight almost too big to carry. To owe another person her life, she could never repay that. She could never simply do _something _and all is well, she doesn't have enough lives to repay that _debt._

So she'll continue to owe him. For saving her then, every time in between, and humanizing her _now_.

Sometimes, Natasha doesn't want to listen to him though. No matter how right, or how much better he can be with certain things. Sometimes, the truth he speaks, isn't the truth she wants. Natasha just feels like these are things she knows, these are things she _should _know. She knows people, she was _trained _to know them, but there is sometimes just a wall she cannot get through. And that's where Clint comes in. But she just doesn't always want to listen.

This is just one of those times.

Natasha let her wrist flick out, throwing the dart in her hand with such precision it soared through the air and straight into another dart. She tilts her head, regarding the man standing silently by her couch with another flick of her wrist. "Yes?"

"How long are you going to mope?"

Natasha sneers, leaning up from her relaxed position on her couch to stare down the rather passive looking Barton. Her eyes traced his loose jaw, his leaned back stature, she lets her eyes trail all the way down and back up until she's seeing him eye to eye. Clint is good at playing uncaring, but she's better. She is seasoned, years of practice, learning. The ability to read people inside and out isn't one you come by with a few years of training. It's something you gain, something you grasp slowly, and carefully. Clint may be an agent, but he hasn't lived the life Natasha has. Hasn't seen the things she has.

"Leave, Barton." Natasha leans herself back down, kicking her boots onto the coffee table. She grabs a messy handful of darts with one hand, and starts to toss them above the tv with her free hand. "I'm busy."

Clint intercepts two darts later, catching one between his fingers. He shakes his head, and Natasha can feel the disappointment rolling off of him in waves. It infuriates her. "You're busy, _moping_." He tosses the dart to the ground, Natasha throws the rest off of her lap.

"Sod _off,_ I don't have to take this from you." She stands, doesn't resist the urge to stab him with her finger, since she can't stab him with a knife. It would be easy, especially in this position. Clint knows this, but he doesn't move away. "Not you, of all people." She levels him with a look, Clint rakes a hand through his hair.

"What did you do? You can't hide from it Natasha, she lives, what, two _floors _above you?" He doesn't give Natasha the chance to speak, "What did you _do?_"

And from there Natasha just _explodes, _"I took your _damn _advice! Are you happy?"

Clint reels back, and Natasha knows it's because he isn't used to seeing her so openly agitated. Angry is one thing, agitated, irritated,_ annoyed _is another. Natasha doesn't usually put a face, and a voice to that emotion. Silent looks, are usually enough. Clenched fists, bit lips, grinding teeth, sharp words, and cunning remarks. The little things were usually enough to pacify the raging emotion.

Right now, for Natasha, it isn't enough. Nothing seems to be enough. She can't get a proper handle on her emotions, nothing seems enough to handle them. She turns away from him, choosing to pace, her boots thunking heavily on the floor with each controlled step. It's been a whole day, she still hasn't stopped _feeling _about that moment.

"Nat, what happened?" It's softer this time, but Natasha still has to count to ten and take a deep breath. And she retells it as it happened. She doesn't leave out any details, she treats at as a debriefing.

It was 0300, she had been relaxing in the kitchen. She heard the elevator, and just knew it was Pepper. Clint had previously informed her that maybe she should take action, and try to solve this _thing _that seems to be happening. She took that advice, waited for the target to approach. When Pepper finally had faced her, she seemed genuinely relaxed. Natasha deemed it time to step in.

She hadn't accounted for anything, hadn't seen Pepper's outburst coming. A little part of Natasha shouted to end mission, pull back and regroup. Especially when Pepper began suffering from some sort of anxiety, or panic related attack. Natasha knew it was best to do something. Do _anything _else. But then she had been stupid, she made move to help her, that only served to trigger her further. Natasha hadn't expected it, she _had,_ most people with PTSD are easily set off. Pepper isn't most people. Pepper is _Pepper, _it was such a _simple _gesture she had used. She had then figured it was best to leave, so as to not give Pepper anymore trouble. It seemed right, at the time.

"Jesus_ Christ, _Nat!" Clint shouted, interrupting Natasha's play by play. "I didn't mean corner the poor woman! You probably made her worse!"

"What was I suppose to do Clint? She won't talk to me, she won't even acknowledge me, she's avoiding me. How else was I supposed to get her attention to ask her what's wrong? I understand she has a problem, PTSD can only be handled so well, the logical-"

"Sometimes," Clint cut her off before she could continue, and when Natasha finally stopped talking she felt breathless and frustrated. He merely shook his head, "Sometimes, for someone so _good _at reading people, you're really bad at it when it counts."

Natasha felt this, she felt like she knew this. Confrontation wasn't an option in this situation. You do not engage an enemy if you cannot predict a response. It's not just that, but the _way _she did it. In a room, coming up from behind her, cornering her practically, forcing Pepper to give her hand. These were all things you do not _do_ to someone in Pepper's situation. But Pepper is _Pepper, _Natasha had reasoned earlier. Pepper isn't like other people, she isn't the norm, she isn't just another civilian. She could handle it.

To Natasha _now _though, it seems like horrible reasoning.

But Natasha didn't know. She didn't know what to do. She couldn't think. If it was anyone else, Natasha felt she could have had the problem solved already. If it was anyone else, she could have gotten over it, or simply fixed it. She could have done things the right way, she could have approached the subject better. She could have came up with a plan, and implemented it to perfection.

It was just odd. Nothing Natasha did seemed to work right, when it concerned Pepper. It was like on purpose. Natasha would look Pepper in the eyes, and see fear, and hurt, and betrayal, and it was so hard to see anything beyond that. It was like Pepper didn't want her to know. Natasha couldn't pinpoint the whys, she couldn't think of what to say.

Before, way back, as Natalie, Natasha felt like she knew Pepper's personality. Memorized every nook and cranny, every secret path, and map way. Pepper could be a fairly simple person. She felt like she knew how to control, and contain her. She felt like she could predict everything perfectly. Like how it should be.

Then something just sort of changed.

Natasha doesn't know when, or why, or how. Soon, Natasha just didn't know. It was hard to predict Pepper, sometimes she could be so controlled, and other times Natasha would catch her curled up on the couch sobbing uncontrollably. Sometimes without reason, or cause. Like a finely tuned bomb going off suddenly, inexplicably before detonation. She could deal with Tony, and then not. She had been fine with Natalie, and the whole situation, and rather then running or questioning it, she _accepted _it. Pepper does things, and feels things, and reacts so differently then Natasha could expect from her, _now_. Before, Pepper had been so easy, then she just wasn't.

No matter what, Natasha would feel like she could have seen that coming, she should have known, but instead, Natasha just _doesn't_. It made her curious at first, before any of this. Now that this is all happening, Natasha curses the fact she can't just _understand._

Natasha doesn't know _what _is going on. She can't see, or predict, she doesn't know what to do or say. That doesn't just _happen. _A highly trained spy who knows exactly how people think, and feel, and how to bend and twist others to her will doesn't just forget _how too_.

The Red Room would have her killed for a slip-up like this.

So she let Pepper hide. She stayed out of sight and in the shadows, she made sure not to run into her. That had been what Pepper wanted, Natasha knew that much, and that was all Natasha knew to give. Space. That was all Natasha was going to do, until she realized Pepper can't get better without action. Unfortunately, Natasha took the wrong action.

Natasha knew, but she couldn't control the mixed feelings she felt about it. Natasha wasn't_ used _to being unable to control her emotions. She wasn't _used _to being unable to read people. She felt constantly frustrated, with herself, the situation. The bottom line, what she hated the most at this particular moment though was,

"She hates me Clint, she's _scared,_ like anyone else would be."

Clint waited a beat, observing her silently, until this look of recognition just flashed across his face. So sharp, and so fast, his expression did a one eighty and he just looked so fed up. Natasha knew what was coming. "What, are you _disappointed _in her? Do you not realize how ridiculous that is, Nat? You kill someone in front of the poor thing, in cold blood, and then you judge her, and feel disappointed she isn't elated with you. That's just-"

Clint stops, seeing the glint in Natasha's eyes. It's dark, primal, an urge. Clint knows it well, he's seen it in peoples eyes everyday. Even if it was only for a second, Clint knew he'd overstepped a boundary. Natasha feels like this is a test. How long can she last before she owes him more then just a debt? How many more will she add to her ledger? Just as quickly as it came, Natasha sits back down, and reaches for her kettle, sitting in the middle of the coffee table.

"Don't do that."

Clint's voice was firm, but Natasha didn't care. She knew what he meant. She poured herself a glass, settled back into her seat with it. "Do what?"

Clint grasps at air, angrily shaking his head as he does so. "Tune it out, turn it all off. You looked like you wanted to murder me, and then you just sit down and drink tea?"

Natasha thinks of three o'clocks in the morning, kitchen cabinets, red tea, Pepper. "I just want to drink tea, Clint." Almost as an afterthought, she adds, "You can go." The almost silent _'I'm not going to hurt you_' speaks volumes.

He tries to get into her line of sight. "Don't just shut down, please." Tries to pull her back in. Natasha doesn't have any of it, she sips her drink, thinks of other things that aren't Pepper. Things that don't make her feel so confused. Thinks of things, that allow her to use her ability to actually reason.

"That's what _I _do Clint, this is what I do." Dissect situations. Categorize how to learn from them. Compartmentalize them. Cut them off from the rest of herself.

And when Natasha said 'I', Clint let his jaw set. "It's what _Natasha_ does," He added, almost as an afterthought to spite, "When she actually _feels_ emotionally compromised_._" And then he left.

Sometimes, Clint acted as Natasha's voice of reason, it was a voice Natasha didn't always want to listen too.

* * *

**A/N**: this may come as a bit of a plot twist


	7. Chapter 7

**Title**: Sometimes, I Wonder

**Pairing**:

**Summary**: Pepper had long since accepted Natasha's personality. It was what made Natasha, Natasha. Pepper thought she had also long since accepted Natasha's job. Being held captive by Natasha's newest target leaves Pepper open to witness The Black Widow in action. Maybe Pepper thought wrong.

**Warnings:** Sort of graphic depictions of violence, deals with ptsd, mentions of attempted rape (nothing happens/happened).

**Disclaimer**: Do not. Own.

**A/N: **(EDIT: trying to fix some of said typos.)

* * *

"But are you _sure_?" Tony is all gentle touches, and caring words. Pepper can see it though, in his darkened pupils, and humming excitement. The questions a front, and while he really cares about her, at this point its for sake of name to ask the question a second time.

Pepper swallows sharply, quirks her lips up into what she thinks is a convincing smile, "Of course, would I be here otherwise?" Tony doesn't ask a third time, pulling her towards him, sitting her on his lap.

Really, Pepper did not foresee this coming, nor had she ever thought in her darkest thoughts she would actually do this.

Pepper just feels tired of running, tired of lack of control she has over her life, of slipping into Tony's bed, of watching life slip by, of feeling people pity her. Pepper wants control, she _needs _it. While everything else is spinning out of her grasp, to shatter on the floor, Tony with his need to put his life on the line, that and so much more. Pepper wants, at the very least, to be in control of her emotions, her feelings, her _life_.

The fear she feels of Natasha, is this great, unknown, uncontrollable thing. It's a bomb that goes off when it wants too, and that's just not how Pepper functions. It's fear, and Pepper is afraid, but she's so _angry _because that isn't what she wants. That's not how she actually feels. The fear, has no shape, has no form, it's just an endless, gaping hole in her chest. She doesn't understand how it's there, or _why _it's there, it just is, and it's taking up space and ruling over her life. No matter how many times Pepper tells herself there in nothing to be afraid of, no matter how hard she tries to get herself to ride the elevator two floors down, no matter how much she tries to fill the hole it just _doesn't_ _work. _

It's there, and at the incredibly slow rate she's going, it'll _always_ be there. Weekly psychiatric visits, breathing exercises, medication, hell, anything she can think of, everything. She's back to work as a CEO, having taken a few days off after what happened just a few nights ago, and she's preforming better then she has been. But it's still _there, _that part of herself, that ruins her _entire_ self_. _She isn't the same person, and even she herself knows it. Everyone knows it. Everyone.

She'll always look at Natasha and think of death and blood, she'll always walk by her in the halls and tremble with the need to turn tail and run, she'll always see the colors red and green and feel so overcome with the need to vomit. And it just isn't _fair._

So Pepper tilts her head, parts her lips. She slides her finger tips over the thick cotton of his shirt, over rough stubble, and wraps her arms around the base of his neck. _I want this. _She tells herself, slipping closer, pressing closer, trying to convey this very _need _that she must _have _this. Tony is all too willing to _give _her this. And that's what she wants. She wants this, and she'll get it, and she wonders why everything can't just be this simple. Want, take, have. She wonders why she can't have this semblance of control over every aspect in her life.

She feels his callused hands on her thighs, how he works his way up to grasp her waist, under her shirt, against her skin. Pepper thinks of the bruises that used to be there, shivers at the thought of how Natasha cut the ropes that once bound her. Pepper reaches a desperate hand down, covers Tony's with her own, guides it up higher under her shirt. She doesn't want to think, she wants to feel. _I want this_. She chants, murmurs it under her breath, closes her eyes, and just waits.

Sitting in the chair, waiting for someone, anyone, to rescue her, Pepper had thought about all the things she hadn't gotten to do yet. She knew she would be saved. The Avengers would find her, and there would be hell to pay. It would happen, sooner or later, someone would burst down the door to her dark, dank, cage. She knew, but sometimes, during her darker moments, Pepper toyed gently with the idea of what if they _didn't_ get there in time? _What if_? What would they do? How would Tony react? That really got her thinking, ruminating in her silence.

It kept her up during the night when she couldn't sleep, it kept her mind occupied, replaying how Tony would continue on. She came up with full scenarios, how Tony wouldn't be able to continue on, or how Tony would find someone else to take her place, and she would tear those scenarios down because she knew, in Tony's heart, she could never be replaced. And somehow that always sort of led to Natasha. How easy would it be for the red-head to grab Clint, and sit down with him in the wee hours of the morning?

Pepper wasn't in the right mind frame at that time, hell, Pepper knows she's barely skirting the edges of sane right now, here, in Tony's bedroom. It's a terrible thing, how easily someone so strong can be thrown off. At the very least, she's sane enough to admit to that right now, but she couldn't find it in herself to care less.

Tony takes the hint, slides his fingers up, against her curves, around and up her back, pops open the clip to her bra with ease. Pepper lets out a tiny, breathy sigh, almost _giggles _at the feeling of Tony smirking, tugging at the offending piece of material out of her shirt. "Like _magic_." He mouths against her lips, and Pepper shivers, and almost feels seventeen again.

At the time it was disconcerting how Natasha wouldn't leave her alone, wouldn't give her those few very needed minutes to collect her head. But sitting in Tony's lap, Pepper thinks, and ponders, and just _realizes _it wasn't Natasha's job to stay with her. It was Natasha's job to apprehend him. It was, truth be told, Natasha's job to bring him in alive for questioning.

Finding that out didn't make Pepper feel better, Pepper found out the moment they debriefed her in the hospital. Nick Fury growling, demanding if Natasha had done it for self-defense. It made her feel worse, sick to her stomach. No matter how she thought of it, whether it was because Natasha felt like the man deserved to die for what he did, or because Natasha simply felt like killing him, didn't bring Pepper any comfort. It made her feel a terrible mix of feelings she couldn't even sort through. It was discontenting, because it didn't make sense. How is it that she knew, and felt so accepting of Natasha, only to do a complete 180 and get herself into this horrible situation?

Tony sat up, pushing Pepper back onto the bed, careful of his weight, careful of her. Always so careful, and considerate. Pepper sighs again, feeling Tony mold to against her, because this is what she _needs._ She doesn't need to think, she's going to forget. That is what she wants. That's what she'll get, then she won't have to question, she won't have to wonder. She won't have to ask herself over and over again,_ why can't I just thank her?__  
_

Maybe it was because it was just _Natasha_.

There was just something about Natasha, that made it so hard to be accepting of her killing people. It wasn't because she's a woman, or because she's Pepper's friend. There isn't a big background story, or some kind of deep reasoning. Pepper just can't _see_ it. To Pepper, when she looks at Natasha, all she can comfortably see is the girl with melancholy on her face, who drinks tea with her at night. Natasha's intelligence, Natasha's beauty, Natasha's _everything_. Most of all, Natasha's regret about all the people she's killed. That soft melancholy, the tortured soul look, so damaged and broken, but Natasha is strong enough to build herself back up and just keep going. And that's what Pepper likes, that's the limit of what she accepts. She accepts Natasha for all she is, all she had been, all she_ can be_.

Pepper _likes_ just seeing that. Seeing the truth first hand though, how deep Natasha's ledger went, seeing Natasha continue to kill, it was something _else. _It was shattering almost, as if the perfect picture she had drawn in her mind had fallen to the ground. It was like a wake up call, or a snap back out of a peaceful fantasy. Pepper knew, _she knew _Natasha's job, and the things Natasha could and _can _be capable of, but, it was just so weird. It came as a shock, seeing really, how _simply _Natasha could pull the trigger. There wasn't even a look of remorse on her face. The same face that looked so tortured during the early hours of the morning.

Pepper knew, how horribly Natasha probably feels about it, it's just so hard to continue to feel so convinced about Natasha's feelings, when really Pepper has no way to accurately know. For all Pepper _knows_, Natasha could have been just humoring her all those months, pretending for the fun of it. And when Pepper thinks about that, it hurts. Pepper wants to ask her, talk to her, see the things that she _knows _to be true, but her fear won't let her believe it. Pepper feels if she could just do that, she could get over everything. Just by having her fears curbed. But then she remembers, she can't even _look_ Natasha in the face without feeling sick, and no matter how badly Pepper wants this all over with, it'll never happen unless she takes action. Action she is too much of a coward to take.

Tony reaches for her shirt, drags it up across her stomach, and pulls away to look at her. _I want this. _Tony quirks his lip, and just sort of smiles at her, it's _that _smile, and Pepper just sort of breaks.

Doing this, right now, with Tony, isn't like taking action. This isn't control, this isn't a release. It's like abusing Tony for a few hours of benefit. In the long run, Pepper knows how much it'll bother Tony, and for herself how badly this will make her feel. For weeks and months to come, it'll probably just make her relapse, that's how badly the guilt will get to her. And that just hurts so much more. She's breaking down Natasha's person, and building it back up, while she's trying to do _this_ with Tony. She's supposed to be focusing on feeling, and Tony, but instead all she feels is guilt, and Natasha. Pepper thinks of the other night, even though Natasha scared her badly, the disappointment on her face spoke volumes. Pepper can imagine it, on the backs of her eyelids, that disappointment being directed at her again and, she just _can't_.

Suddenly, Pepper doesn't want this anymore.

Pepper didn't really know why suddenly it hurts, a _physical pain, _the pain in her chest overwhelming to the point of tears prickling the edges of her eyes. It seems to squeeze the air straight out of her lungs, burning. The sharp gasp she lets out, hot breath against Tony's lips, has Tony jumping backwards, stunned. He studies her, trying to figure it out, take apart the situation bit by bit and put it back together. Pepper knows though, that Tony knows, no matter how hard he tries he'll never know unless she speaks.

She tries once, failing, falling victim to gasps, and strangled sobs. Tony leans into her, waiting to catch her when she falls. She tries again, "I can't... I can't do this." Pepper barely chokes out, clutching at her shirt. The walls are too close, and she just can't _breathe._ "I can't, I can't, I can't. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I did this to you. So _sorry."_

And it's sad, because no matter how Pepper tries to justify this moment, she knows she'll never be able to forgive herself for playing with Tony's heart strings.

"Pep? Pepper, Pep, _Virginia, _it's okay. It's okay. Breathe babe, breathe." Tony is panicking, scared, and it's Pepper's fault. She doesn't like to do this to him, she doesn't like to make his anxiety flare up. With the current situation, she's been doing it left and right, and she only sobs harder. She doesn't like being a burden. Being a burden is beyond her control, and all she wants is to be able to gain control of herself.

He tries to move away, maybe leave the bed, maybe leave her altogether. She deserves it, but Pepper doesn't let him, she wants to be selfish. She wants someone to comfort her, she wants someone there for her. She feels like she's always had someone with her, through her darkest times, and right now, if Tony leaves, she'll have no one. She grabs his shirt, pulls him in close and sobs into his shirt. He freezes, not knowing what to do as sobs wrack Pepper's tiny frame, the light from the arc reactor dim against the backs of her eyelids.

"I don't want this."

She just wants to control the fear, that's ruining her life.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title**: Sometimes, I Wonder

**Pairing**: ?

**Summary**: Pepper had long since accepted Natasha's personality. It was what made Natasha, Natasha. Pepper thought she had also long since accepted Natasha's job. Being held captive by Natasha's newest target leaves Pepper open to witness The Black Widow in action. Maybe Pepper thought wrong.

**Warnings:** Sort of graphic depictions of violence, deals with ptsd, mentions of attempted rape (nothing happens/happened).

**Disclaimer**: Do not. Own.

**A/N: **

happy typos guys

* * *

Sometimes, there are these days, lapses in Pepper's _problems._ Sometimes, she wakes up, and everything feels just a bit better. Her shoulders a bit lighter, her eyes a bit brighter, these are days that Pepper is radiant, and lovely, and strong. Pepper is her old self again. Pepper would give anything to feel like this every day, even better then _before _any of this. On these days, she feels like she can do anything, she feels like maybe the entire time she had just been overreacting.

Days like this, Pepper wants nothing more then to confront Natasha and sort out her problem. She wants to run up to her, and apologize, and thank her. She'd give everything to go back to the old days where her biggest problem was deciding what skirt to wear for a board meeting and occasionally she'd worry and fuss over Tony. Days where it was so much easier to look at things on the bright side, not constantly shrouded in darkness. Days where she cared, and bothered with mostly Tony then herself. Whether Tony would make it back, whether Tony should be allowed to give an interview, whether or not Tony would something or other.

Days like this, are days Pepper always _wants _to have, to feel, to experience. Because it's easier to complain about and worry for someone else, it's easier to think for and feel for another person, it's easier to just _be _another person, then it is to sit and stew in her own screwy emotions.

Maybe these aren't her _good_ _days_, maybe these are days where the medication for her anxiety seems to work a little better. Maybe these are days where her mind is so fogged over, she can't even find it in herself to care about what really matters. Maybe these are days, where she sees Natasha, and her first thought isn't about death, or shame, or her own self-preservation. These are days where she's compartmentalized so much, Tony is the one on her mind again. It's rare, but it does happen.

Ever since what happened, what she attempted with Tony, Pepper's put more thought into Natasha. Pepper's thought more about the disappointment on her face, more about what it meant. She's stopped to try and think about it from Natasha's point of view. What it must feel like to live with someone who's terrified of you. Not just _someone, _but the _one _person whom you thought was_ more than that_. More then just a civilian, a casualty, a victim, an outsider. Pepper wonders, what it must be like, to have that same person whom you thought was _more_, be the one to crumble and become so much _less_. Pepper is the epitome of all of these things now. A civilian, a casualty, a _victim. _

Sometimes, the guilt Pepper has, for feeling this way, for being these things, is so _much _she wonders how it's possible she's still even functioning. She still passes Natasha in the halls, she still sees them all leave for missions, she knows Natasha is still _there _and knowing she's there, putting up with this, bothers Pepper endlessly. If she could just reach in, and pull this part of her out, she would do it in a heartbeat.

Pepper truly believes, truly feels, that if she could just possibly _talk _to Natasha, it would all fix itself.

And it just frustrates Pepper endlessly, that all it took was a bullet through her kidnappers head. The one guy that probably deserved it. The one guy who brought it upon himself. She's supposed to be out of that chair, out of that basement, out of that situation, but it's like she's still down there. Stuck, and controlled, and forced to do things she doesn't want. He's dead, but even beyond the grave she's still his captive. If it weren't for him, Pepper would probably still be sharing tea, at three in the morning.

Pepper wonders if she'll ever get better, if there even is a 'better'. Maybe this is what she'll be like from now on. Maybe this is it, this is her now.

Someone who is weak, a mere civilian. Someone who wakes up depressed, a casualty waiting to happen. Someone who has lost them-self, a victim. Someone who is terrified of the one person they thought they would never be. Someone who has lost something. Someone unable to cope. Someone who can never pick up and start again, and brave through it like Natasha. That's the final piece, all that was left, now she's also someone who is an outsider.

Sometimes, there are days where Pepper is once again strong, beautiful, radiant even. However, most days, Pepper sees herself as so much less then all of that. Someone who can never be better.

* * *

"Are you giving up?"

Pepper looks up at Tony, her expression tightening, her nails digging deep into her knees. "Have you not heard a thing I've said?"

Honestly, Pepper doesn't know what spurred her on to talk to Tony, besides feeling like she owed him. While Tony can be surprisingly deep and caring, Tony can't sugarcoat his words, he can't hold his tongue, and at times that can make him seem callus. And honest to god, Pepper isn't sure if she can handle it. Right now, sitting next to him, she feels so far _away _from him. Tiny, insignificant, like a burden you can't get rid of. Pepper never feels like that, not to Tony of all people. This situation, her problem, has brought her countless emotions that she doesn't want, but she has anyways.

Tony cups his chin, strokes his skin. He refuses to look at Pepper, just for a second, opting instead to stare straight above her head and sigh. It unnerves Pepper, horribly. "Look, I've heard a lot about the things you claim you can't do, and the things you wish you could do. I don't know if you realize this, but these things are one and the same. You tell me that this is it, you obviously aren't happy, but you have the ability to get through it."

"_How_?" Pepper loses her grasp on her emotions, they come spilling out, fast, harsh. her voice strained and raw._ "_How can you honestly listen to what I've told you, and feel like I have the ability? Don't you think I would _try _if I knew I could? You tell me, right now, how I can get better."

"You're scared Pepper, and you aren't thinking properly, if at all, about this situation." Tony's voice is flat, but it's far from uncaring. He scoots closer to her, tenderly wraps an arm around her shoulder, careful and ready for her to push him away again. It's such a comforting move, Pepper practically collapses into it. She wonders how he is still even acknowledging her. She'd expected him to lock himself away after what had happened.

"I _know_ I'm not, don't tell me things I already know." She reaches a hand up, twining her fingers in his greasy, oiling tank top. Its familiar, it's safe. Pepper presses her face to the crook of his neck, smells the oil, and metal, the faint linger of cologne. "Don't be mad at her."

"I'm not... exactly," He pauses, and she can feel him inhaling deeply, with the heavy rise and fall of his chest. "She didn't do it on purpose."

For every touch, every strained word, Pepper knows it's gnawing at him, deeply. Pepper knows, but she needs this, and she knows Tony knows that too. It's in the way he tenses, but pulls her closer. The way he sighs but still talks to her. How he doesn't lock himself away, even though he wants too so badly. Pepper closes her eyes, imagines that she could stop all of this. "Tell me."

"Just talk to her. Miss Big and Bad obviously plays a really big part in this, and I _know _if you would just buck up, like the strong, independent CEO of my company you are, you can both get over this. Its PTSD and whatever, but listen, if you face it, ...you can do it. I've got EXP in this department, babe. I know these things." He takes another breath, wraps his other hand around her shaking frame. "It's difficult by yourself, but you can do it. You've got friends in high places, who can protect you. ...That includes the itsy bitsy spider."

And then Pepper just sort of pauses. Because she knew that. She did. But the way Tony says it, with such conviction, while joking around, it really brings it down. It brings it to her level. It doesn't seem as daunting, or impossible. Tony knows how badly it bothers Pepper to even stand in the same room as her. He knows this, and says the things he did. And while a part of Pepper wants to be angry at Tony for making her mountain of a problem into a molehill, she knows that simply is how he sees it. How he knows she should see it. How it is.

"Pepper?" He nudges her lightly, bringing her out of her thoughts. He pushes her back, holds her at arms length. "What did Natasha do to you?"

Pepper can feel the words on the tip of her tongue, taste them. Bitter, and metallic, salty. She looks at Tony, really looks, and she can _see _the conviction in his eyes. She holds his gazes, murmurs, "Nothing."

Tony nods, a tiny smile coming to his face. It's strained, pained, but Pepper can see it. The twinkle in his eyes. "What has she done _for_ you?"

That's when her eyes start to burn, this little crevasse in her chest aching. She swallows, tries to fight it down, but it clenches at her throat, spills out in tears, streams down her cheeks. Natasha has done a lot, since day _one_. She saved Tony, her _family,_ she kept them together, kept him alive and well, saved her more then once. But it's so much more then that, Pepper has seen, and accepted Natasha first hand. She knows how deep Natasha's scars run, she knows, she knew even then, and accepted it. She still accepts it, because when Pepper looks as it like this, when has Natasha ever tried to harm her? What did she ever do for Pepper to get that notion?

She's done _so much, _that it seemed almost impossible to Pepper, daunting. Pepper owes her so much, and instead repays her with this crippling, uncontrollable fear of her, and that's not fair to Natasha. That isn't even fair to herself. And while Pepper already knew that, hearing it from Tony like this, really brought it into perspective. He didn't list the things Natasha has done, he didn't tell her how to feel, all he did was _ask _such _simple _questions. That led to even simpler conclusions, but sometimes, it's how you say it, it's how you feel it, how you _do _it. Tony said it right, Pepper felt it right, she can _do it _right.

Pepper thinks of red hair, and emerald eyes, and her stomach churns, and lurches, but it doesn't ... she doesn't let it get to her for the first time in a long time. She sits there, and feels this weird strain on her chest, and all it does is make the tears come faster. That little ache, that empty feeling. Pepper misses her. No matter how scared she thinks she feels, no matter how bad she feels, she knows, that's the reason why she hasn't simply turned tail and left. This is why she hasn't left the tower, or stopped going to work. Because she wants to keep going, she wants to catch the little glimpses of Natasha without getting the backlash.

She wants to be _better. _And while that one part of Pepper feels extremely negatively, sometimes so horribly Pepper doesn't want to get out of bed, the bigger part of herself, knew. Pepper pushed herself to keep going, to work, to go out, to continue on. She pushed herself to control the situation to the best of her ability, she pushed, and she pushed, and _just maybe_. If she could just push _past _the negative part of herself, the part that fears Natasha, the part that second-guesses, the part that thinks that everything is over, and she has no way out, Pepper _knows _she can _get _better.

Even though she's scared, even though she feels like she can't, even though she feels physically ill when pushed to do these things. If Natasha can risk her life for her, if Natasha can put up with her, why can't Pepper put up with herself? Pepper owes her that much to try. Pepper owes _herself _that much to continue pushing.

PTSD, to Pepper, is like a second self, a road block, a wall. She has this crippling fear, and these horrible reactions, and all the time it never leaves her. Not when she eats, or sleeps, or works, it's always there. So she tries to fight it, tries to push it, and it doesn't _give_, it doesn't _budge. _That makes her feel worse. The fear, the pain, the disability to feel like herself, the disability to understand. It just doesn't _go_, and Pepper feels like it never will. But sitting here, next to Tony, Pepper thinks about it and realizes she's been doing her _best_. She's been continuing to _push_. She never let it get out of hand, she forced herself out of bed, she forced herself to work. And while she always felt terrified, a part of herself, subconsciously Pepper knew she put herself in these situations, almost on purpose. To get through it.

Because she owes it her, owes it to herself. Now, maybe, Pepper can finally own up to it.

"_Everything."_

* * *

Pepper leans back in her chair, looks out of her window. She's feeling it today, absolutely _vibrant_. It's a good day, she can feel it. She swivels back around, stares at her blank computer screen, her hand hovers over the mouse, she could get some paper work done. She has twenty minutes before her next meeting. But, no, part of herself is screaming, aching. Today is it, she really feels, today is the day. She picks up her phone, slides her fingers briskly over the keys. She does so flawlessly, but her stomach is churning, and her heart is racing, trying to burst straight out of her chest.

She could hang up, right now, go back to how it was. Tell Tony is didn't work, tell her she's still too scared. She's been scared for too long though, she owes it to herself. She has to keep going. Her phone rings once, then twice, Pepper can hear the click. They've answered. Most of Pepper's conviction, and bravery has belted, she feels sick now, and she's sure she's going to throw up, but she pushes. She pushes _hard_.

"I want, to talk to you."

_"... Then talk."_

Pepper parts her lips, then lets them slide back shut. She can't keep talking, if she does, she'll surely throw up, she'll panic, she's _already _panicking. But she wants this, she _needs _it. She closes her eyes, and this is all easier, because Natasha isn't standing right _there_. She can do this. "Talk to _me." _

"_Is that what you want?" _Her voice is clipped, and it hurts. Pepper can see it, even with her eyes closed, Natasha's lost look. Disappointment. Melancholy.

It hurts, and it's partially Pepper's fault, but _no. _She needs this. And since Natasha answered the phone, maybe she needs it, too. "Yes."

* * *

**A/N:** *paragraph long rant here*


	9. Chapter 9

**Title**: Sometimes, I Wonder

**Pairing**: really

**Summary**: Pepper had long since accepted Natasha's personality. It was what made Natasha, Natasha. Pepper thought she had also long since accepted Natasha's job. Being held captive by Natasha's newest target leaves Pepper open to witness The Black Widow in action. Maybe Pepper thought wrong.

**Warnings:** Sort of graphic depictions of violence, deals with ptsd, mentions of attempted rape (nothing happens/happened).

**Disclaimer**:

**A/N: **jfc

* * *

"When I was ten, I killed my first target_._"

Natasha tilts her head back, closes her eyes, and tries to decipher what the tiny gasp on the other side of the line means. By the little hitch in her voice, and the soft '_oh' _she expels, Natasha feels like this might be _pity. _Pity, for what she had done, pity for what she had to go through. Natasha isn't certain though, with Pepper she hardly ever is, so she plows through. Tries to understand through sounds, and murmurs, tries to use her ability to know people to understand what Pepper can't put into words.

Natasha... _normally_ doesn't delve information about herself. Obviously, spies, agents, _assassins,_ don't have pasts. The past is unnecessary baggage that just slows you down in the end. It hinders your ability to perceive and act accordingly. They only have the future, and they only have that if they don't get _killed_. If they aren't shot on a mission, or stabbed in the back by a teammate, or burned by their provider. The future is a tricky thing for a person like Natasha. You only have it, if you are able to understand people, before they understand _you_.

Sometimes, to Natasha, there is only a fine line between Assassin, and Spy. Maybe that's just her, maybe because, for SHIELD, she is both.

Natasha _doesn't_ speak of the past, she doesn't willingly give information about herself. Natasha _understands_ the risks involved with that, she _gets_ that not just anyone can be let in. She doesn't want just anyone. Maybe that's her old self talking, the assassin, the cold blooded murderer. While it's not quite safe nor wise to reveal particular details about herself, she'll skim over those things, the outcome won't be as bad. She works for SHIELD now, and some things not even they know, or even need too. She can work with that, she's done it before.

Clint knows about her. He knows the past to this spy is even darker then what he imagined. He knows SHIELD only wanted her for her talents, her ability to kill. He knows how red her hands are, how deep her scars run, how cold her heart can be. He doesn't know it all, hasn't heard much of anything from her lips. He pieced things together himself, he knows maybe a quarter more then what SHIELD does. That's why Natasha likes him, owes him. Clint knows more because he's genuine in wanting to help, he knows more because she _owes _him more. Clint needed to know, and now he does, but for him what does this extra information _do_?

For Pepper, this extra information could serve as a way to finally overcome her fear, or perhaps instill more in her. At least that is what Natasha keeps telling herself, this is how Natasha justifies her actions.

Natasha isn't sure, she isn't positive, because she can't read Pepper like an open book. She can't understand every look of fear, every tremble of her hands. And that's wrong, because Natasha _should _be able to understand. A very large part of Natasha thinks this is a good idea. It's this strong _urge_ to make sure Pepper _knows _the things she didn't before, believes the things she obviously had trouble accepting. The things Natasha thought, oddly enough, Pepper knew already. There was no way for Pepper to know these things, not even a way to have an inkling of knowledge. There was just this _feeling _Natasha had around Pepper, that Pepper just _knew_. She had too.

A part of Natasha, this quaint, little part, believes so _strongly_ that Pepper _needs_ this, Pepper _deserves_ it. Because Pepper doesn't know. And that same little part, believes she _should_.

That is the part of Natasha, that dreams when it shouldn't.

"I was sterilized at age twelve."

The list of alterations done to her has always made Natasha feel dehumanized. Her rights and choices, options, had been stripped from her at a young age. Maybe that's why it always felt a little easier to pull the trigger, a little easier to strip others of their rights to live. Whether that's her self-pity talking or not, Natasha doesn't care. And like that, Natasha finds it easier to speak. Each night a new topic, a new piece to Pepper's puzzle. Natasha barrels on, from the significant to the non-significant aspects of herself. Whether it's important or not, top secret or not. If Natasha felt the information about herself made a point, if Natasha felt the information could change a persons view on her, she relayed it. Slow, and hushed, almost like a lullaby, a gentle song.

There are plenty of things Natasha _won't_ say, no matter how early in the morning, no matter how quiet. There are things that Natasha tells herself she wouldn't say. Because that's how it should be. There are things Pepper shouldn't know, things Natasha doesn't want her too, things that don't define Natasha as a person, but just elucidate her life and how she lives it. And that isn't Natasha's current quest, it isn't it mission.

It's been six nights since Pepper started this up, and Natasha can tell she isn't tired of it. She should be by now, but she isn't, and she isn't letting up. And Natasha doesn't know what to do.

"I try not to kill unless I have too, I try not to kill unless I'm ordered too. It's not easy, but then that way, I feel like I don't have to shoulder all of the blame. Sometimes though, people deserve it." Natasha knows her voice is cold, firm, it leaves no room for question. "Maybe it's not my place to decide, maybe it's not my right. He deserved it for what he did, Pepper."

Maybe some of this information Pepper doesn't need. Maybe a sick side of Natasha wants someone to mourn her past, wants to hear the cries, wants to be the victim for just once. Maybe some sick side of her, wants to be praised, wants to be put up on a pedestal, for every death, every kill, every hit done away with. This one included. Natasha knows... _feels _she made the right decision. She could have taken him to SHIELD headquarters, it would have been easy, they could have milked him for all the intelligence he was worth, but he would have gotten out. He would have gotten away. Instinct told her that much, and Natasha never doubts her instincts. They've never led her wrong. Pepper would have been in more danger, he would've went for her again, especially after seeing Natasha's reaction to Pepper being strapped to a _fucking chair._

Cradling the phone between her cheek and shoulder, Natasha breathes a little sigh, "I would kill him again."

The pause on the other end of the phone is almost deafening. Natasha holds her breath, tries to hear anything. The normal sighs, the normal gasps, but the line is silent. Maybe she finally did it, maybe she finally won this game.

"... _I know_."

"I'm sorry."

A brief pause, "_Don't be._"

When Natasha hears the little click on the end of the line, she doesn't put the phone down.

Natasha honestly meant that apology. She was sorry Pepper had to witness that, she was sorry that she couldn't feel the remorse for killing him, she was sorry that she could be, and was such a horrible person. She was sorry that it scared Pepper endlessly, the things she could do, the things she couldn't. Natasha is sorry about a lot of things, always has been, always will be, but Natasha understands feeling sorry won't bring the dead back to life. So she _stops_. She stops feeling sorry for things she couldn't control, she stops doubting the deaths she's forced to bring and bare.

She isn't sorry he's dead, she isn't sorry she killed his crew, she couldn't care less how this affected his remaining brethren. Those words went unspoken, but Natasha knows Pepper is smart. There were and are things, Natasha will always find a way to feel apologetic for, she'll always look at her hands and see the blood dripping, but sometimes, that blood is necessary. Sometimes, rare times, Natasha does not care. And maybe, maybe that's the side of Natasha that will always remain the ruthless killer that she _can be._ That ruthless killer actually _exists _still, and it always will.

And that's it. That is what Natasha wants Pepper to realize, she wants it to sink in, fester. Natasha can be a horrible person, she isn't a victim to be pitied, she isn't an innocent party. She doesn't deserve Pepper's kindness, however, the fear Pepper has of her, is entirely justified. That does not make it hurt _less, _but Natasha understands, and she wants Pepper to as well. Pepper should hold onto that fear, no matter how much Natasha doesn't want her too. It'll keep her safe. She wants Pepper to know this.

Maybe, someday, she will.

* * *

**A/N: **_this isn't how I wanted this chapter to be at all especially with the wonky timeline but-_Let us thank google for this bountiful meal of Black Widow trivia. lets not look too deeply into these little tidbits, especially concerning the ages/Red Room time period/spelling and grammar/sense/random/etc. (ps if you want to keep up with my writing feel free to follow the link in my profile)


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